Lovers on a beach
But art was something she hadn’t thought much about since college, when she fell in love with Renaissance art, especially Boticelli. The romance of it all was what appealed to her, till she wouldn’t be satisfied until she went to Italy to see it all firsthand. She finally made it there, with the first substantial boyfriend who could afford the trip. But after the stress of traveling with someone who had never been oversees, and the annoyance of traveling with someone who didn’t give a damn about art, she felt unbearably let down. But she took what the universe gave her. “It is what it is,” she told herself.
No one would have thought her the romantic type anyway. Serious face, never smiling, except with people she was familiar with. Then she laughed a lot. But most people thought her a little uptight. Starched white button down shirts, knit vests for some color. The shoes were bit adventurous, but never too much so. The 3 inch heels raised a few eyebrows, especially since they brought her height to nearly 6 feet. But never an ample breast revealed, or a thigh uncovered.
Today, she was wearing jeans, since she was on vacation. They weren’t loose, or of the “grannie” variety found at LL Bean. No, these were real boot cut jeans that showed off a nice curve of an upper thigh, tapered down to the knees and then flared out slightly, accentuating her height and her figure. On top, she wore a white tank top covered by a tailored khaki jacket. Yes, it was a bit out of character. Visiting her sister in Washington, DC, they had gone shopping. Alone (as in without her husband) for the first time in ages, she found herself being talked into all kinds of purchases that she would never have bought at home. And now, here she was, wandering through an art gallery, looking nothing like herself, and frankly, feeling nothing like herself. And she liked it.
Out of nostalgia, first she headed to the medieval and renaissance section. Now, it just made her feel sad. Like the possibilities that never worked out. There were only a few Botticellis on display. One simply titled “Portrait of a youth.” She looked at the youth - a young man with long brown hair, and a red hat like a fez. Attractive. Exotic. Beautiful. She walked on with her typical blank expression on her face. She felt down. What had she done with her life? She sighed audibly. She was agitated. She should call her husband, but she didnt’ want to.
In the West wing of the gallery there was a photography exhibition. Something recent. She never fancied herself one for modern art, but she felt a gnawing need to get out of where she was. She crossed over the covered walkway and walked up the stairs. They were pictures of people at the beach in hawaii. People in clusters on towels. Couples, friends, singles. Spaced appropriately enough away from each other. She wondered why they were all white. Wait, here were two japanese guys. Something about the picture appealed to the voyeur in her. She loved to people watch. Sometimes people could be incredibly boring. But sometimes they could be utterly fascinating. At the museum, there was no one to watch, which just made the art more appealing.
She stood in front of a giant photograph, stretched across half a wall. A vast beach, totally free of people except one couple laying on a crumpled blue towel, locked in an embrace. Diagonally across the top 1/5 of the sheet, the water from the ocean laps the edge of the sand. There something beautiful about the photo, yet something disturbing as well. The sand looked inviting - soft, like talcum powder. But she felt sorry for the cavorting couple. She was mad that the photographer took this photo of them. It was intrusive and voyeuristic. And yet, she herself couldn’t stop looking. She wondered when the last time she was locked into an embrace of such intense desire. High school? She sighed. An older man next to her sighed too and said “There’s no use wanting that again. That kind of love is for the young.” She laughed and smiled at him. “Yes, I guess you’re right,” she agreed.
And yet, she suddenly wanted that. She suddently knew that she could have that again. Yes, she could. She stood a little straighter and lifted her chest. As she walked out, she locked eyes with an attractive stranger waiting on the steps. She purposefully stopped at a kiosk to buy a map and turned her head to look at him again. He was standing beside her, smiling. “Can I show you around town?” he asked. Yes, sometimes the universe gives you what you ask for.
